"Melancholia" is now available On Demand; in theaters November 7.
Of the Four Bodily Humours -- sanguine (blood), choleric (yellow bile), melancholic (black bile) and phlegmatic (phlegm) -- Lars von Trier has probably been most closely associated with the choleric, as expressed in angry, violent, inflammatory, irritating and caustic films such as "Breaking the Waves," "The Idiots," "Dancer in the Dark," "Dogville," "Manderlay," "Antichrist"... The latter felt to me like a glossy fashion magazine's idea of a horror movie ("Evil Vogue" -- all it was missing were the scratch-n-sniff Odorama perfume ads), but von Trier¹ claimed it grew from deep inside a cocoon of depression.
"Melancholia" strikes me as a more focused and harrowing portrait of clinical depression, a glowing, black-bile-on-velvet portrait of despair so bleak that it destroys the entire planet. Two planets, in fact: one is Earth and the other (quite similar looking but much, much larger) called Melancholia, a kind of massive-planet-sized anti-matter particle which we see collide with and engulf the Earth (from deep in space) in the opening montage... and again, from a terrestrial perspective, at the end.
If Terence Malick's "Tree of Life" is, as I described it earlier in the year, "a movie about (and by) a guy who wants to create the universe around his own existence in an attempt to locate and/or stake out his place within it," then "Melancholia," by my reckoning, is a movie about (and by) a person whose depression is so inescapably great and soul-destroying that it envelops and annihilates the world. Because it has to. There's nowhere else for it to go. Also, it's important for the depressed character/filmmaker to firmly assert that the only life in the universe is on Earth, and that all of it is annihilated. Hope of any kind is not an option. Besides, anything less that than the obliteration of absolutely everything would spoil the perfection of the happy ending for von Trier and Justine (Kirsten Dunst), his Bride of Oblivion.
"Melancholia" begins with an overture/montage (the orchestral prelude to Wagner's "Tristan und Isolde") that von Trier himself describes, unimprovably, as a headlong dive into the abyss of German Romanticism: a series of exquisite, haunting ultra-slow-motion tableaux -- some of which are directly referenced in the film proper (the bride enmeshed in a sticky grey organic web; Justine coming through the woods while her nephew whittles a stick in the foreground; the manicured "Last Year at Marienbad" grounds of the manor in which the movie is set) and some of which are more indirect (Justine's horse Abraham collapsing in a field under the aurora borealis; Justine as the mad, suicidal Ophelia, who drowned in Denmark; Justine conducting electricity through her fingertips). There's something almost Lynchian about these images. They don't feel to me like they've been intellectualized (as von Trier's imagery often is); more like Lynch's, they have an immediacy, as though they've leapt straight from the artist's unconscious onto the screen.
Hand-held shaky-cam work aside, the aesthetic is about as far from Dogme95 as you can imagine -- so pristine and self-consciously beautiful that von Trier (as usual) has already felt the need to half-apologize for it in an interview on the movie's official site: "Well, I am afraid it has turned out too 'nice." [...]
"All the time I meant it to be polished in some way. And I hope people will find something beyond the polish, if they really look for it. It's just harder to get down to than with 'Antichrist,' because the surface is so polished."
"Melancholia" is spectacularly polished, evocative of the elaborately artificial movie-worlds of the director's "The Element of Crime" (1984) and "Europa/Zentropa" (1991). There's no aesthetic "vow of chastity" behind these lush, Romanticized 2.35:1 land-, space- and face-scapes. The opening screens are reminiscent of the Classic Rock chapter dividers in "Breaking the Waves." You may not even notice at first that they are moving. I think of them as panels in altarpiece paintings or sectional works like Hieronymus Bosch's "Garden of Earthly Delights," depicting separate but abutted/overlapping visions of heaven and hell here on Earth.
After this overture/prelude montage, the movie, like most of the elements in it, is divided in two. The first part, "Justine," is a torturously prolonged chronicle of an endless wedding reception as experienced by the clinically despondent bride; the second traces the slow journey from denial to awareness of Justine's sister Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg). The doubling/splitting/mirroring of the planets, the sisters and the film's structure continues with the characters: Michael (Alexander Skarsgård), Justine's shy, gentle, lovestruck groom and Claire's wealthy, impatient, assertive husband John (Kiefer Sutherland); the sisters' divorced parents, the irresponsible, (desperately?) fun-loving and possibly alcoholic Dexter (John Hurt) and the brittle, bitter Gaby (Charlotte Rampling, whose rictus-visage has made her modern movies' scariest thing on two legs); the two Bettys seated on either side of Dexter at the reception; Justine's longtime advertising agency boss Jack (Stellan Skarsgård) and his nephew, the inexperienced newcomer Tim (Brady Corbet) he assigns to shadow his star employee all night until she comes up with a campaign tagline he expects from her... It's matter vs. anti-matter, all the way through.
The movie proper begins with a comedic exercise in frustration that hangs over the rest of the film: a loooong white limousine, carrying Justine in her wedding dress and Michael in his tux, attempts to negotiate a winding driveway lined with old stone markers, and can't quite make one of the turns. By the time they arrive for their own reception dinner they are two hours late, making the ceremonies seem all the more interminable. Poor Michael has invested his heart and future in Justine, but all she wants to do is shut down and take a nap as the procession of hollow, mandatory wedding rituals drag on and on and on: the meal (remember to pass from the left), the awkward toasts, the dance, the cutting of the cake.... If there's anything more hellishly tiresome than a wedding, it's one that doesn't even delight the bride. By the end of the evening (near the end of the middle of the eternal night), the marriage of Justine and Michael is stillborn... abandoned and forgotten, just another a path not taken. Her last words to him are, "What did you expect?" Justine has moved past clinging to any expectations, beyond desire, beyond hope.
"We're alone. Life is only on Earth. And not for long.... All I know is, life on Earth is evil. Nobody will miss it." -- Justine
In the depths of her despair, Justine finds a certainty that keeps her calm in the face of universal annihilation -- which is merely an external manifestation of what she feels inside, anyway. She welcomes the apocalypse, a suicide without guilt because nobody is left behind. "Melancholia" effectively submerges the viewer in Justine's near-catatonic emotional state (that's one of its most powerful achievements), yet the movie itself is not a depressing experience. There's (evidently hard-won) humor behind almost everything -- including those utterances from Justine, above. That final absurd sentence hit me as particularly funny, and insightful into the way the depressed mind works, an endless spiral of contradictions: We're all alone, life is evil, and nobody will miss it. Well, yes, if all life is extinguished, Justine, you can be fairly certain there will be nobody around to miss it. (I think this is the ultimate form of the old joke about the food being terrible -- and such small portions!)
I will venture to say this: There are few movies in which someone (like me) who has suffered from clinical depression recognizes the authentic sensibility of depression (it takes one to know one): "Persona," Cronenberg's "Crash," "Fight Club" ... and certainly "Melancholia." Charlotte Gainsbourg and Willem Dafoe had some pretty deep depression scenes in "Antichrist," but once they got into the woods the movie turned into a freakshow and the real horror was lost. By showing where "Melancholia" is going at the very start, and then following through, von Trier captures the futility of true depression, when your only conviction is that everyone is utterly alone, life is evil, existence is and has always been meaningless, and you need to make it all end soon, if only you had the energy to stand up.
That probably doesn't sound very enjoyable, does it? Well, I can't think of (m)any von Trier comedies (they're all comedies, aren't they?) that I would watch again for pleasure (I haven't seen "Manderlay" or "The Boss of It All") -- but "Melancholia" is, if not exactly exhilarating, some kind of ecstatic experience, like witnessing the celestial apparition of Melancholia itself. This movie has the courage of its maker's and central character's convictions, both nihilistic and visionary. Watching it, I felt a sense of awe: Surely no revelation is at hand.
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¹ I know, it should just be "Trier." The "von" is an aristocratic joke, a nickname he supposedly picked up in film school and that he kept in honor of two other phony "von" filmmakers: Erich von Stroheim and Josef von Sternberg. But while it's commonplace to refer to "Stroheim" and "Sternberg" (maybe because those names already have two syllables), people in the U.S. seem to prefer "von Trier."
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I suspect that Mr. Von Trier, rather than admitting that he has been depressed or plunging us into the depressed state of Justine, is rather declaring - "I know f***in everything".
There's a horse called "Abraham", and it receives a rather fine beating from his mistress Justine (Ms. Dunst). The cause of the defiance here is a little bridge, which Abraham refuses to cross, and the bridge seems to have a forest on the other side. Neither her sister Claire (Ms. Gainsbourg) nor Claire’s horse seem to have any of those problems while riding their way onto the other side, only to stop and look behind Justine and Abraham struggle it out. One might remember Ms. Gainsbourg’s She running across the bridge in fear and into the forest where evil nature was waiting to completely possess her. That Claire, and Justine, and Abraham, and Melancholia do not get sucked in, and instead struggle it out within their “own” world is probably a reflection of Mr. Von Trier’s attempt to discover the “significance” of humanity amidst the kitschy demonstrations of it, rather than merely bitching as he did in Antichrist. One might be reminded of Doc Manhattan from Watchmen, his general disinterest in the ways of humanity, his fractured perspective of time, and his great respect for everything cosmic. That these attempts tend to sprinkle around kitsch themselves is not merely ironic but revealing in that they feel, in a lot of ways, incredibly heartfelt.
And yet, everything in Melancholia is carefully calibrated. The film begins on a surprising promise of humanity, though, with Justine’s very face glowing with optimism. She tries to maneuver a stretched limo through a narrow turn, seeking adventure in life’s tiniest moments. It is the evening of her wedding, and as she arrives with her groom Michael (Mr. Alexander Skarsgård) she runs to the stable to greet Abraham. Mr. Von Trier uses the handheld camera aesthetic, at first to feel everybody around and finding meaning (humanity) in the most banal of actions, like a man playing naughty with spoons. It is him indulging in the specifics. The speeches come, they feel perfunctory, since every wedding movie ever made has one, and yet because of the dynamics around the table, and because of interesting actors, we’re still feeling the evening. And then we have the speech from the mother, and it feels as if the filmmaker inserted there himself through her, and shakes Justine off her little illusion. The very aesthetic Mr. Von Trier has been employing to find some meaning is now used to distance us, and he cuts right between actions, reflecting Justine’s wandering attention. Events become more and more uninteresting, and Justine meanders along unmotivated. To her the people around feel like characters out of a television soap, walking meaninglessly and trying to find meaning to their little worlds. Through editing, Mr. Von Trier here doesn’t merely destroy time but makes us lose any interest we’ve in the passage of it. And by removing that passage, Mr. Von Trier seems to suggest how contradictory and flawed and predictable and thereby uninteresting most people and their actions are. In a moment displaying supreme skill, and revealing flat-out condescension, Mr. Von Trier destroys, in three cuts, all that Claire stands for. Consider Claire the quintessential person-in-control. She’s concerned that the house butler has not checked in for work, upon which Justine, sitting behind the table, remarks this is the time he probably needs to be with his family. The talk of doomsday is everywhere (off-screen), and this casual remark causes Melancholia to catch Claire in a close-up, reflecting on the implications, and her movement towards the table suggests she might want to convince her sister and be the one in control. The film cuts through that movement, and finds her, head pushed forward, in a persuasive stance, claiming Melancholia, the planet, is going to pass us by. Mr. Von Trier doesn’t cut to Justine and instead stays on Claire for a moment, as if raising his eyebrow, and the next cut has Claire framed from a different angle doubting herself. She is exposed, naked, and her hitherto calm façade revealed to be merely a performance, not a character trait. Justine is calm on the other side, growing progressively calmer. The sequence goes on to completely destroy our perception of these characters, and just when we start to question Justine’s transformation from that of a helpless medical condition to one who seems to be remarkably strong and in control, Mr. Von Trier draws leverage from a piece of information that had been branded trivial earlier (thereby revealing it to be, in a curious way, not trivial at all), and elevates her to the status of a prophet. He ties every piece of information and stray sensation we’ve gathered until now – right from the illustrated books on the shelf to those super-slow images of destruction upfront – to Justine, thereby reining in an amazing level of narrativization and commentary to the proceedings, and probably robs the opening of its purity.
I think Melancholia is a pretty funny film. Michael hurriedly undressing himself is embarrassingly funny. What I found most amusing though is Justine indulging herself in a stick cave for Leo, after having completely shitted Claire’s plans to display “control” on the terrace. The three sit together, hand-in-hand, and as Melancholia approaches for its warm embrace, I couldn’t help but wonder about Leo, and if he would open his eyes look at Justine (or towards the camera) and remark – “You know what I think of this stick cave? It’s a piece of shit.” That there would have been a masterpiece.
Jim, but the one of the opening shots, the one you have at the top, is quite frankly one of the best shots I have watched in a long time. I mean, it is my wallpaper right now. There's something about it, the angle or the lighting, that portents the finitude of our earth. Sort of like an mash-up of the angle from Last Year at Marienbad and the second moon-monolith in 2001.
for some reason (the knowledge of the film’s premise?) this angle that is always committed in science fiction to render the boundaries of the moon, where we can clearly see the space beyond, is probably never used for Earth, which to the naked eye feels infinite. Maybe we’ve seen its cousin in The Mummy Returns, and my memory isn’t serving me well here, but the shots of a clear sky during the night from the sea (Titanic) do provide for a cosmic perspective. This shot, by making the earth seem flat, with definite edges, sort of like a shore, or an overhead shot of a stadium surrounded by darkness, provides for a similar feel, and by providing two invisible light sources Mr. Von Trier quite stealthily reins in the duality that is at the heart of his film. The duality that Justine and Claire stand for, the duality the presence of our moon (familiarity, complacence, infinitude) and a planet (stranger, finitude) causes within us, the duality of the optimist and the pessimist (who is more or less used interchangeably with the cynic). Quite remarkably, the duality of St. Elmo’s fire, whose mythology has been so thoroughly destroyed by a simple scientific explanation, exemplifies Mr. Von Trier’s stance, and where we view it as a supernatural phenomenon in those opening moments, the blunt facts of the closing images destroy any such optimism. What destroys The Hunters in the Snow destroys Melancholia. Any meaning we’ve attached, any significance we’ve learnt is pretty much meaningless. The painting is less a mood and more an artifact, an object, and Mr. Von Trier, by narrativizing, renders everything trivial. One might even say Mr. Von Trier (Justine) has answered Mr. Terence Malick (Claire).
An excellent critique of the film, Jim; one that makes me want to see the movie more. You make it sound as if this is one of von Trier's (or Trier's) best. Is it?
I definitely think it's one of his best -- maybe his very best.
I'd definitely rank Melancholia as von Trier's best, though to be fair I've never been a huge fan of most of his other films. There's an incredible beauty to Melancholia, though, beyond the soul-crushing depression. The image of electricity rising from Dunst's fingertips is one of the most stunning I've seen all year, and the last twenty minutes or so of the film constitute some of the most powerful and beautiful cinema I've seen in a long while.
I like that you mention Malick, too. I think Melancholia and The Tree of Life would make for a great double feature, and not only for the obvious creation/end of the world thing.
Dammit...I keep swearing off (von) Trier after every film of his I see, but he keeps making films that seem way to interesting to pass up.
I personally thought the start of the movie was one of the most badly shot, unfunny and unwitty satires of human rituals I have ever seen. It somehow made me think of a completely missed attempt at a Bunuelian critic of bourgeoisie.
Kiefer Sutherland's cardboard character behaves in a completely unbelievable way, and says the most horrendous lines. Same for Dunst's mother, played by Rampling as a walking cliche we've seen so many times in movies (the drunk parent who doesn't believe in weddings, really?).
It's really too bad that the movie is so relentlessly trying to bore us to death in its first half, missing even its comic relief when it's throwing half-assed jokes that belong in an Adam Sandler comedies on the screen to make us laugh at those oh-so-funny bourgeois people stuck in their rituals.
I would have enjoyed that beautiful, subdued second part way more if I had been made to care about or believe in those people in the first part.
I got out of the theater completely unimpressed. It's a really good thing I followed it up with Almodovar's movie, which was at least fun and interesting to watch.
Found your summations of Tree of Life/Melancholia interesting. But did you mean to give them such a narcissistic pitch? You imply that Malick's very own existence is the starting/central point of the universe while in Von Triers cine-verse the fate of the world shadows his own interior struggle. Saw Tree of Life. Haven't seen Melancholia. I did feel that Tree of Life had a perspective that felt quite de-centered, to me anyway . . . .
I see "Tree of Life" as a supremely narcissistic film -- in the way each human life inevitably is. Its core sensibility is rooted in the solipsism of a child: specifically, Jack (who functions as the filmmaker's alter ego), even though there are multiple voices on the soundtrack (perhaps filtered through Jack's memory). And it broadens out from there, as Jack grows and understands more about his life and those of his family. But at heart, it's about Jack trying to make sense of his place in the universe. So, that's not a condemnation but an observation. I've seen it once and will watch it a second time now that I have the DVD/Blu-ray.
Great essay about the film. In my review of "Tree of Life" I also wrote that it was the "Genesis", while "Melancholia" was the Apocalipse. I had not noticed the duality of the film though. The two sisters, the two husbands, the two planets. The child is also very important in the film. At first the boy reflects his father´s enthusiasm about the Planet. Sutherland´s character is clearly the "man of science, has faith in Nature and can´t grasp that something as beautiful as Melancholia is harmfull. It´s arount the child that the film ends. And at the last second his mother let´s go of his hand and dies alone. Powerfull stuff.
I think that people need to not be so serious and give these guys a break. Terrence Malick, Mr. Von Trier, any other film makers like him who "think outside the box". Its just art, it’s just a movie. Lighten up.
Their movies are wonderful in their own right, yet at the same time those two men don't really presume to "know everything" like the rest of us would too I imagine. Those are words being placed in their mouths by others, not necessarily by themselves (the root of many human problems if you ask me--misunderstanding and finger pointing).
God knows what those movies really "mean" (and sure Tree of Life and Melancholia are not perfect) but I say who the blank cares? Movies are beautiful because no matter who makes them or how they're made, each person can get something unique out of the experience. If we can't agree on that, and people start putting ideas into others' heads saying: "you must believe this or that"; boy, I think we're in real trouble.
I really loved your point of view on Melancholia. I have yet to see this film and want to review it myself.
I'm going to investigate your other reviews.
Thanks for sharing!
Just saw it and loved it. I agree that it's a great portrait of depression, which I also know something about. But I think it's also a great exploration of the pros and cons of pessimism vs. optimism, as represented by Justine and John. Which leads me to a question, for Jim or anyone else who has seen the movie: (SPOILER ALERT) Did John commit suicide, or was he accidentally killed by a horse in the stable? I'm not sure if it was supposed to be unclear, or if I just misread the clues. It matters to me, so I would appreciate any clarification anyone can offer!
(SPOILERS). I wasn't totally surprised by John's death (a suicide) because of his reaction to the pills Claire gets. (He took them.) But it surprised me at first that he would simply abandon his wife and son this way. Maybe he just couldn't face them since all his assurances turned out to be wrong. Or maybe he realized he was a coward -- not as confident and together as he liked to pretend. Maybe he feared he would freak out and be weak like Claire and Justine had been earlier. Or maybe he figured (correctly) that the one best equipped to face the end of the world, and to help his wife and son face it, was Claire. Just some ideas that ran through my head...
You only dedicate a few sentences to Claire, Jim, and yet the she occupies half of the movie.
I find that if Justine is depression, Claire is anxiety. She reacts like someone who believes has a lot to loose, with little control over her emotions, and big unresolved conflicts within. She fears the anihilation of life, of her life and its immediate continuation -that of her son-, with a similar anticipating fear of someone suffering an anxiety disorder. She repeatedly looks up info on the internet about the planet (OCD?), has difficulty to breathe (of course justified by a scientific exposition: the earth's loss of atmosphere because of the nearing of Melancholia) and performs mindless, impulsive actions (attempting to start every car to finally trying to drive her son to the village -yeah, you'll be safe there- on a golf one).
I didn't like 'Melancholia' as much as you did. I believe the first half is a superb portrait of dreadful, selfdestructing depression, and the second a long, a little too on the nose metaphor with good moments (great classical suspense provided by Claire's son device, the whole put it up to your chest thing). Matter and antimatter are fairly unbalanced.
I tried to identify with Justine's behavior as a depressive melancholic person, but the character seemed to be clinically insufferable, making me wonder if Trier had ever been depressed a day in his life. I never really bought into it, making the leap from depression to celestial mechanics that much greater.
Beautifully written.
I think when Antichrist was made, von Trier was too close to the depression to not intellectualize about it.The distance is what allows Melancholia to be better.
I think this film is a lush work of art but I realize it is not for everyone. When showing it to a friend I had to encourage coffee/keeping attention through the wedding because it would pay off. Also, I was tempted to cut to the limo scene and go back to the opening shots when the film ended for my friend. Those opening shots are much more fascinating after you've seen the movie. The ending made me want more and you get a bit more by going back to the start. When I first watched the movie, I knew very little about it and I found those scenes disturbing and odd. Now I am used to them. I am fascinated by the way this film uses music. Amazing. I have a question for Jim.. There seems to be a divide as to whether or not the wedding guests know about Melancholia. What are your thoughts? Thanks.
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